


As I Stand in Line

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Series: Fall Away [10]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - D/s/s, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex, sex tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6721732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And maybe he wasn’t planning on Domming the both of them tonight, but like, with Connor sliding into subspace and Dylan following him fast, Mitch isn’t gonna complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Stand in Line

**Author's Note:**

> Set after that Oilers/Sabres game in Buffalo that Dylan went to. (I made Mitch go, too).
> 
> I do not represent the real people presented as characters in this fic, nor do I make any claims about what they do or do not do in real life.

It’s two and a half hours from London to Buffalo, it’ll probably take another half hour for Mitch to cross the border, and driving that by himself definitely isn’t what Mitch had planned on doing with this couple of days off, but –

Connor’s going to be there, and Dylan’s driving up from Erie to see him, and Connor had asked Mitch if he wanted to come, too.

Mitch was telling the truth when he told Dylan that he was done with guessing what they want from him.  It was too much energy, energy he should’ve been putting towards the Knights instead of his relationship.

And he’s not under any illusions about their relationship.  He knows – well, he doesn’t know what Dylan feels, not exactly, but Mitch knows how he feels about Dylan.  He knows that he doesn’t love Connor, not the way he loves Dylan.  He knows that Connor _definitely_ doesn’t love him like Connor loves Dylan.  But there’s still – something.

Dylan had said something once, when they were facetiming late at night a couple weeks ago, that Connor makes people want to take care of him.  That he doesn’t do it on purpose, but there’s something about him that just makes people feel _something_ for him.

Mitch isn’t denying that.  There’s something about Connor.  But there’s something about Dylan, too, and it’s a different something.  Maybe Dylan can’t notice it about himself, just like Connor probably can’t tell the effect he has on people.

Mitch is sure there’s something about himself, too, that makes Dylan want to be with him, and Connor be his friend.

He had two and a half hours in the car to think about it, and he’ll have two and a half hours driving back to London tomorrow morning to think about it more.  Maybe that’ll be enough time.

 

.oOo.

 

“I can’t believe Connor got two goals,” Dylan says for the fourth time, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  Mitch laughs a little, tugging Dylan back towards the wall.  They’re loitering in the hallway down a bit from the visitors locker room, waiting for Connor.  He’d seen his parents before the game, and they’d bowed out with a smile to let Dylan and Mitch see him tonight.

“I know, Dyls, I was there.”

“Marns,” Dylan whines, slouching down on the wall so he’s almost on the same level as Mitch.  Mitch raises an eyebrow at him.  “ _Marnsssss_.”

“Stop whining,” Mitch tells him, tugging at the hem of Dylan’s jersey – a McDavid Oilers jersey, of course.  “Connor’ll be out here soon.”

Just then, Eberle sticks his head out from the doorway and spots them down the hall.  “Strome!”

Dylan perks up and whirls around, deflating a little when he sees it’s not Connor.  “What is it?  Is Connor ready?”

“You should come in here,” Eberle says, then smiles a little.  “You, too, Marner.”

“Is something wrong?” Mitch asks, towing Dylan over to the door by the elbow.  “He didn’t look like he got injured.”

Eberle just shrugs and waves them in.  “Not hurt, we don’t think.”

“Then what—” Dylan starts, hurrying into the dressing room.  And then he stops, Mitch peering over his shoulder, when he sees Connor.

Mitch should’ve guessed, probably, that they’d find Connor sitting half-dressed in his stall, his head on Nuge’s shoulder and legs slung over his lap, curling up against him.  Connor’s dropping, after seeing his family for the first time in weeks, playing against his media-decided rival, scoring two goals, and knowing he was going to see Dylan and Mitch tonight.

Dylan drops onto the bench next to Connor, pressing against his side.  Nuge shoots a long-suffering look at Mitch, and Mitch grins back.  He taps Nuge out, sliding in under Connor’s legs and coaxing his head back down onto Mitch’s shoulder.

“Two goals,” Dylan says, kissing Connor’s cheek.  “ _Two goals!”_

“We won,” Connor replies muzzily, his face mushed into Mitch’s neck.  “I got the winning goal, Dyls.”

“You did,” Mitch says, patting Connor’s knee.  “You did so well, Connor.”

Connor smiles dopily up at him.  Mitch is weak.

And maybe he wasn’t planning on Domming the both of them tonight, but like, with Connor sliding into subspace and Dylan following him fast, Mitch isn’t gonna complain.  It worked out well the last time – on Skype, when Connor was visiting Erie.  And now he knows Connor-the-sub better, what he likes, how it works with what Dylan likes.  And they’re _all together_ , it’s not just Mitch watching Dylan and Connor through a screen.

Sometimes, he thinks about how representative that was – Dylan and Connor together, and Mitch separated from them by hundreds of miles.  Even when Connor’s literally lying on him, he’s still separate from them.  For the most part it’s fine.  He knows that Connor and Dylan are _Connor and Dylan._   He knows Dylan wants him.  It’s how they all fit together that he can’t figure out on his own.

“I assume you’re taking him?” Eberle asks, leaning against the side of Connor’s stall.

Mitch looks up at him, then down at Connor’s dopey grin.  “Yeah, think so.”

Eberle nods.  “Bus is leaving at 9.”

Mitch pushes Connor’s hair back from his forehead.  “I’ll make sure he’s there.”

Eberle walks away without saying anything else.

 

“C’mon, Connor, finish getting dressed,” Mitch says, leaning over a little to pat his side.  “We can’t leave until you’re dressed.”

Connor groans, but he pushes up off of Mitch and scrabbles for the pair of sweatpants hanging in his stall.  Dylan still hasn’t let go of Connor, though, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

“Dyls, you gotta let Connor get dressed.”

Dylan frowns up at him, but he lets go of Connor, so he can struggle into his sweatpants.

Mitch huffs a laugh and helps Connor out.  The two of them are useless like this, just trying to stick close together and not really thinking about anything else.  It’s adorable.  It’s also a little irritating, when Mitch just wants to get them somewhere _private_.

And – it’s something like this that Mitch can see why they need him.

“Socks,” Mitch says, pushing Dylan off of Connor again.  “Don’t you want to get somewhere private?”

That snaps Connor out of it a little, enough that he can finish getting dressed without letting Dylan distract him again.

Mitch grabs each of them by an arm to haul them to their feet, trying to figure out how he’ll carry Connor’s bag, too.

“I’m taking his bag,” Hall says, grabbing it and slinging it over his shoulder.  “We’ll get his suitcase, too.  Just get him to the bus on time.”

“Oh – yeah,” Mitch says, surprised.  “Okay.  Nine in the morning.”

Hall just grunts and goes back over to Eberle and Nuge.

“Can we go now?” Dylan asks, his head resting on top of Mitch’s.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on.  My car’s down the street.”

 

.oOo.

 

Mitch and Dylan had made their hotel reservation together, and Mitch hadn’t seen a point in getting a room with two beds, even if he wasn’t sure what he and Dylan would be doing after the game.  But now he’s so glad he pushed for the single king bed; there’s no way all three of them would’ve fit on one of the smaller beds.

“Up by the headboard,” Mitch says, once they’re in the room.  As much as Connor and Dylan were hanging onto him on the way up to the room, they’re fine with letting go of him now, and scrambling up to the center of the bed.  Mitch kicks his shoes off, and rolls his eyes when they fall together and start kissing, without taking off their coats or anything.

It’s almost like they forget he’s there, when they get going.  It’s the way it is when they’re just hanging out – Dylan and Connor’ll get into their groove, and Mitch sits there and watches until they remember he’s there.  Or he gets in the middle of them.  He’s fine with it.  It’s just the way they are.

“Daddy,” Dylan whines, Connor’s face buried in his neck.  Mitch blinks and comes back to himself.

“I’m coming,” Mitch says, kneeling up on the bed and leaning over Connor to kiss Dylan gently.  Dylan’s hand shoots out, twisting in the front of Mitch’s t-shirt and pulling him closer.

“You gonna take off your clothes?” Mitch asks, pulling back just enough to speak.  “You didn’t even take off your shoes before you got in bed.”

Dylan pouts up at him, then shakes and bites his lip when Connor does something to his neck.  Speaking of which –

Mitch tugs at Connor’s hair until he tilts his head up, and Mitch can shift just enough to kiss him.

He hasn’t kissed Connor before.  He opens up sweetly under Mitch’s mouth, tongue flicking his lips and sliding against Mitch’s with the slightest amount of coaxing.  He moves when Mitch tugs his hair, and lets Mitch devour him.

“Daddy,” Dylan says, and grabs Mitch’s free hand.  He tugs it to his mouth and sucks his index finger into his mouth.  Mitch moans into Connor’s mouth, and Connor sags back against the bed.

“Fuck, Dyls,” Mitch says, pulling back from Connor.  “Desperate already?”

“I’m not desperate,” Dylan mutters, and Mitch just grins at him.  He knows what desperation looks like on Dylan, when he’s skyped Mitch after a hard game and almost beg for Mitch to put him down.

“Mitch,” Connor says.  Mitch looks down at him, from where he’s braced above him, sprawled half-across him just like he was when he crawled up to kiss Dylan.

“You know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me,” Mitch replies, raising his eyebrows.

Connor only blushes a little before saying “Daddy,” with a little bit of a whine in his voice.

“What do you want, Connor?” Mitch asks, using the hand Dylan isn’t sucking and licking to cup Connor’ cheek.  “You think you should get a reward for your two goals?”

Connor lists into his hand, his mouth hanging open.  But he doesn’t answer.  And as much as Mitch has thought about, and seen, what Connor would be like in subspace, he can’t decide what a reward would be for Connor.

“What do you think, Dyls?” Mitch asks, keeping his eyes on Connor’s face.  “How should we reward Connor?”

Dylan nips the tip of Mitch’s finger before pulling back.  “He likes being filled.”

“Of course he does,” Mitch says, kissing Connor quickly.  “Such a perfect little sub.”  And then he leans over to Dylan and kisses him, too, a little harder, and says, “Thanks for helping.  Did exactly what I asked.”

He’s spent too much time muddling through the mess of Dylan’s insecurities and anxieties not to preempt a breakdown now.  Dylan’s bright smile means that he appreciates it – and that he knows what Mitch is doing.

“I think I’ve got the perfect reward for you, Connor,” Mitch says, hooking his fingers in the collar of Connor’s shirt.  “I can finger you open, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to be rubbing up against Dylan when I do.  You want that, Connor?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Connor moans, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.  “Fuck…”

“You want that, Dyls?” Mitch asks, turning to him and pressing his fingers back to Dylan’s lips, until he lets them in. “You want Connor to grind up against you while I’m fucking him?”

Dylan sucks on his fingers and nods, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Or maybe I’ll fuck the both of you, put my fingers in whoever’s empty to keep you ready for me.”

“Please,” Connor gasps, bucking up against Mitch.  Dylan makes a high-pitched noise that Mitch knows signals enthusiasm.

“All right, clothes off,” Mitch orders, taking his hand back from Dylan and kneeling up on the bed.  “Everything.”

Dylan goes right away, tearing his coat off and throwing it off the side of the bed, his jersey and t-shirt following right after.  It takes a moment for Connor to get with the program, but once he starts moving, he’s even faster at throwing off his coat and struggling out of his t-shirt.  They’re equally inept with their pants, even though Dylan’s in jeans, with a fly to contend with, and Connor’s just in sweats.  Mitch sits back and laughs at them, as Dylan starts kicking his off, and Connor’s squirming around to work them off.

Finally, they’re both lying back on the bed, completely naked.  Mitch stares at them for a second, how lean and long Dylan is, and the muscle that Connor’s built over his time in NHL.  He can even pick out the scar, from the surgery for his collarbone.

“Gonna help me undress?” Mitch asks, plucking at his long-sleeve shirt.  Dylan scrambles up and starts pulling it off, dragging his fingers over Mitch’s stomach as he does.  Connor’s barely a second behind, helping Dylan pull the shirt up and over Mitch’s head, and then down his arms.

“I hate jeans,” Dylan mutters, starting in on Mitch’s button and zip.  Connor must decide to leave that to him, because he keeps his hands on Mitch’s stomach, petting over his abs.  And Mitch knows that Connor’s slept with Andrew Ference and Luke Gazdic, who have much nicer bodies than a 19-year-old, but Connor liking how he looks is a nice ego boost anyway.

Mitch has to actually help to get his jeans and boxers off, and as soon as they are, Dylan drops a hand to Mitch’s cock and strokes it lightly.

“Fuck,” Mitch pants, and bats Dylan’s hand away.  “Did I say you could do that?”

“No,” Connor answers, and Dylan shoved him.

“I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to touch,” Mitch says, patting the top of Dylan’s head.  He watches Dylan’s eyes darken, and can see how it slips him further down into subspace.  “Connor, on your back in the middle of the bed.  Dylan, on top of him.”  They bump into each other as they scramble to obey.  “Legs spread.”

He has to climb off the bed to go get the lube out of his bag, but when he turns around with the bottle and a condom, the view of the both of them on display _for him_ is like nothing else he’s seen.

“Who should I do first?” Mitch asks rhetorically.  “Got two perfect little boys here for me…”

“Connor,” Dylan pants.  Mitch grins.

“You wanna let Connor go first as part of his reward?”

“Daddy,” Connor whimpers, tilting his ass up.

Mitch puts the condom down next to Connor’s hip and cracks open the lube, spreading it over his fingers until they’re almost dripping.

“You ready, Connor?” Mitch asks, pressing his fingers to Connor’s hole.

“Daddy, _please_ ,” Connor moans, rocking back against him.

Mitch doesn’t make him beg.  He works one finger into Connor, groaning a little at the tight heat around his fingers.  Connor gasps and bucks back against him.  When Mitch pulls back and thrusts his finger back in, Connor rocks with the movement, and his cock must brush against Dylan’s, based on the startled moan Dylan lets out.

“Perfect,” Mitch murmurs, and adds another finger.  It’s obvious that Connor’s been fucked recently, or been fingering himself a lot, because even though he’s tight, he’s opening up easily for Mitch’s fingers.  But whoever else Connor’s playing with doesn’t apply here; it’s just the three of them, now.

“So easy for it,” Mitch says, when he scissors his fingers and Connor just _gives_.  “Fuck, Connor…”

“He likes it,” Dylan chokes out, his fingers curling around Connor’s next to Connor’s head.  “He likes having something in him, whatever he can get, he…”

“Dyls,” Connor groans, pressing his face against Dylan’s neck.  “Oh my god…”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Mitch says, sliding a third finger in with his next thrust in.  “Dylan’s just telling me how much you like it, Connor.  You wanna tell me yourself, if him saying it’s embarrassing?”

“Daddy,” Connor whines, looking over Dylan’s shoulder at Mitch.  “Do I have to?”

“Or Dyls can just keep going,” Mitch says, draping himself over Dylan’s back, thrusting his fingers in a little harder.  “But I wanna hear more about how much you like it.”

“One time,” Connor pants, rocking back on Mitch’s fingers.  “One time, after Andrew fucked me, I begged him to put a plug in so I wouldn’t be empty.”

Dylan grinds down against Connor, a moan slipping out, and Mitch spreads his fingers.

“I – I had Andrew and Luke both in me, it felt so good, I felt _full_ , it was…”

“Holy shit,” Mitch whispers, barely keeping himself together enough to keep working his fingers in Connor.

“Fuck me,” Connor begs, bracing his feet on the bed, his knees brushing the backs of Dylan’s thighs.  “Daddy, c’mon.”

“Yeah,” Mitch moans, and pulls his fingers out.  “Yeah, I’m gonna fuck you, and stretch out Dylan, and once he’s ready I’m gonna fuck him.”

He wipes his fingers off on the bedsheets before picking the condom up again.  His hands shake a little as he tears it open; Dylan, hearing the noise, looks over his shoulder at him.

“You don’t need one,” Dylan says, licking his lips.  “We’ve already…”

“I know,” Mitch says, leaning forward to kiss him softly.  “Just, in case, for something I’ve got planned.”

Dylan nods and relaxes a little.  Mitch settles back and rolls the condom on, then gives himself a couple pumps to spread lube over his cock.  He grips the base and shuffles up until he’s between both of their legs, and presses the head to Connor’s entrance.

“You ready?” Mitch asks, the thumb on his clean hand swiping over Connor’s hip.

“Yes!” Connor forces out, and Mitch thrusts in.

That first thrust is like a revelation.  Mitch loves fucking Dylan – obviously – but Connor opens up for his cock as perfectly and easily as he had for his fingers.  Dylan takes a little more effort, a little more stretching and back-and-forth before he can just _fuck_ him.  This isn’t like that.  He could go as hard and fast as he wants, right off the back, with how open Connor is.

He wonders how much effort Connor had to put into it, to keep himself _ready_.

“Daddy,” Dylan whines, and Mitch realizes he hasn’t been moving.

“All right, Dyls,” Mitch says, pulling back and thrusting back into Connor, and forcing a groan out from Connor’s bitten-red lips.  “You ready, babe?”

“I’m so ready, Daddy,” Dylan moans.  Mitch has to pull back a little, to fit his hand between his stomach and Dylan’s ass, and rubs his slick fingers over Dylan’s hole.  “ _Daddy—_ “

So Mitch thrusts a finger into Dylan.  He’s not cruel, after all.  He keeps rocking into Connor gently, focusing a little more on working his finger in, and a second, after a bit.

He watched Dylan fuck himself on a vibrator last night over Skype.  Dylan can take it.

“Fuck,” Connor moans, his head falling back against the bed.  Mitch grins and fucks him a little harder.  Dylan’s thrusting back on his fingers, and grinding forward every time Mitch fucks him with them harder.  Connor’s letting out half-moans on every breath, his eyes shut; having them facing each other for this was definitely the right move.

Yeah, Mitch remembered when Connor and Dylan said that was their favorite way to get off.  He’s a fucking amazing Dom, even if they don’t always need him.

“You ready for me to fuck you, Dyls?” Mitch asks, twisting his fingers in and brushing against his prostate.

“Yeah, Daddy,” Dylan groans, his head falling to Connor’s chest.  “C’mon!”

Mitch pulls his fingers out of Dylan, and starts pulling out of Connor.

“No!” Connor protests, his hand shooting out to grab Mitch’s arm.  “No, Daddy, no—”

“You shouldn’t be selfish, Connor,” Mitch chides him.  “You know I’m not gonna let you be empty.”

“I know,” Connor mutters.

Mitch leans over Dylan to kiss him, hard.  He’s heard from Dylan how desperate Connor can get, how demanding, but he hasn’t seen it firsthand before.  It’s intoxicating, and it makes him want to spend more time fucking Dylan, or only give him two fingers instead of the three that Connor’ll demand, just to hear Connor beg in that pissy tone of voice.

“Pulling out now,” Mitch murmurs, and pulls out of Connor, sliding his fingers in barely a second after.  Three, because there’ll be time to tease Connor later.  He takes a second to shift up, and then he grabs his cock with his left hand and presses the head to Dylan’s hole.

Before he can really thrust in, Dylan bucks back against him, and the head slips in.

“Fuck,” Mitch hisses, jerking in a little further.  “Fuck, Dylan.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Dylan moans, spreading his legs a little wider and pressing closer to Connor.  “Thank you, thank you—”

He’s cut off when Connor tugs him down into a kiss, their lips working together in this practiced dance, where Connor tilts his head one way, and Dylan knows that means Connor wants more tongue.

“Fucking beautiful,” Mitch grunts, thrusting into Dylan harder, and curling his fingers in Connor.  “The two of you, fucking—”

Connor reaches up between them, and Mitch thinks he’s rubbing over one of Dylan’s nipples, just based on the way Dylan tightens like a vise around him.

“Holy shit,” Mitch mutters, just giving little thrusts, Dylan too tight to really fuck into him.

But Connor’s still loose around his fingers, even when Mitch thrusts in deep and rubs his fingers over Connor’s prostate.

Mitch knows Dylan could pretty much come just from one of them playing with his nipples, and he doesn’t know how close he is, after all the fingering and fucking.

“Don’t come yet,” Mitch pants in Dylan’s ear, making him shudder between Mitch and Connor.  “Not until I tell you.  You too, Connor.”

Connor breaks the kiss with a flash of teeth – Dylan biting Connor’s lip, obviously – and sets about sucking a mark into Dylan’s neck.

Dylan loosens up just enough that Mitch can really fuck him again, using his free hand to hold Dylan’s hip and keep him steady.

“Think I oughta give Connor a little more, huh?” Mitch pants, squeezing Dylan’s hip.  “You gonna be okay with just my fingers?”

“Y-yeah,” Dylan moans, his voice shaking.  “Yeah, fuck Connor again, Daddy.”

“Babe, you’re perfect,” Mitch says, nipping at the back of Dylan’s shoulder.  He thrusts in one more time and pulls out, slipping his fingers from Connor a moment later.  He thrusts his fingers back into Dylan, first, curling them to find his prostate.  When Dylan moans and sags down into Connor, Mitch grabs his cock and thrusts into Connor again.

Connor moans, loud and high-pitched, his fingers scrabbling in the sheets.  Mitch groans, just at the feel of Connor’s wet heat sucking him in again.  Fuck, but this is something he could get used to.

“Feel so good, Connor,” Mitch manages.  “Like you’re made to have someone fucking you.”

“Daddy,” Connor whines, as tears start gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“What—” he starts, but Dylan cuts him off.

“He cries when he likes it,” Dylan sighs, jerking back against the thrust of Mitch’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Mitch moans, stuttering a thrust into Connor.  “That’s so hot, babe.”

The tears slip from Connor’s eyes, trailing down his cheeks.

“You feel so good you just can’t keep it in, huh?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Connor forces out, his breath hitching.

“So good for me,” Mitch grunts, thrusting harder.  “And you, Dyls, both of you, taking it so well.”

Dylan’s nearly boneless, rutting against Connor and whimpering into Connor’s ear.  He’s definitely close to coming, and Mitch can tell from the way Connor’s shaking and crying that he is, too.

Without giving them a warning, he tugs his fingers from Dylan’s hole and pulls his cock from Connor’s, shifting up and thrusting into Dylan with barely a pause.  He slides his fingers back into Connor, and leans over Dylan.

“Dyls, you wanna put your fingers in Connor, too?” He pants, thrusting in hard.  “Fill him up with my fingers and yours, too, you know he wants more—”

“Please,” Connor whines, pinching Dylan’s nipple and making him cry out.

Dylan doesn’t say anything, just slips his hand down and thrusts a finger into Connor with Mitch’s three.  Connor moans, flinging his head back against the pillows.

“Yeah, you like that Connor?” Mitch thrusts into Dylan harder, angling as well as he can to hit his prostate.  He curls his fingers, his palm bumping the back of Dylan’s hand, to try to get Connor’s prostate, too.  “You like the both of us stretching you with our fingers, keeping you full?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Connor whimpers.

“Should’ve – fuck, should’ve picked up one of those two-ended dildos for the both of you.  Just put in an end in each and let you fuck yourselves on it, fucking back against each other and moaning…”

“Please,” Dylan cries.  “Please, Daddy, please—”

“You wanna come, Dyls?  You wanna come on my cock?  Fucking Connor with your fingers?  That’s what you want?”

“Yes, Daddy, I want—”

“You wanna come, too, Connor?  With me and Dylan’s fingers inside you?”

“Yes!” Connor moans, starting to shake harder.  “Please!”

“After you come, you’re both gonna suck my cock, make me come all over your faces,” Mitch pants, and then, “Both of you, come, now, c’mon.”

Connor goes off first, right as Mitch says the word, clenching down on Mitch and Dylan’s fingers and nearly shouting.  The feel of Connor’s come between them, and Connor coming on his fingers, sets Dylan off, and he comes around Mitch’s cock, clenching and loosening in waves around Mitch.  It’s almost enough to make Mitch come but – no, he wants the both of them looking up at them when he does, wants to come all over them, his two perfect subs, even if it’s just for tonight.

He pulls out, and takes his fingers back, stripping the condom off and flicking it off the bed.  He knee-walks around them, sitting back against the headboard with a leg on either side of Connor and Dylan.

He knows he can never expect Dylan to move too much right after he comes, and Connor’s probably the same.

“C’mon,” Mitch says, holding his cock by the base, and offering it to them.  “You know the deal.”

Dylan scoots up and leans in, fitting his mouth around the head of Mitch’s cock.  Mitch groans, struggling to keep his eyes open, staring down at the both of them.  Connor cranes his neck to get to Mitch’s balls, licking them gently, and then up to the base of Mitch’s cock.

“Shit,” Mitch groans, bucking into Dylan’s mouth and forcing him to take a little more in.  Connor follows the movement, pressing his lips to the base and sucking gently.  “Dyls… Connor…”

Dylan takes him in further, bobbing his head and working his tongue over the head.  Mitch is a bit surprised Dylan can manage that much so soon after an orgasm.  And Connor, too, alternating between the stretch of his cock that Dylan’s not sucking down, and his balls, treating him to these little kitten licks and kisses.

“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, hips shifting restlessly.  “Fuck, let me, I’m gonna—”

Dylan and Connor both pull back, staring up at him, Dylan with his spit-slick lips, and Connor with tear tracks trailing down his cheeks, and Mitch gives himself one quick stroke before he comes all over them.

Most of it gets on Dylan’s face, because it’s _there_ , but then he ducks down to kiss Connor and it all just smears between them anyway.

“Fuck, the two of you are dangerous,” Mitch pants, leaning his head back against the headboard.  He’s wrung out and exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep until he’s taken care of the both of them.

“Gatorade,” he says, flopping to the side and grabbing for the bottles he’d left there before they went to the game.  “At least a half bottle each.”

Dylan grabs them both from him, opening one for Connor and handing it to him, before opening the other for himself and starting to drink.  Mitch swipes a protein bar, too, and breaks off bite-sized pieces to feed the both of them between sips.

After a couple minutes, Dylan rolls off of Connor, leaving a space between them, before looking up at Mitch.  Mitch knows that look; he squirms down between them, stealing a sip of Dylan’s Gatorade, and offering another bite of protein bar to Connor.

“You can take a nap if you need to,” Dylan says, kissing Mitch gently.  “We’re good.”

“Mmhmm,” Connor adds, nuzzling his face against Mitch’s shoulder.

“’Kay,” Mitch murmurs, and falls asleep.

 

.oOo.

 

Mitch wakes up, a bit later, to Connor and Dylan whispering over his head.

“I think you’re projecting,” Connor says, in what must be the middle of an argument.  “He doesn’t seem upset to me.”

“Fuck you, I’m not projecting.”  Yeah, definitely an argument.  “And I’m telling you, he _is_!  He kept getting that look on his face.”

“What look?”

“Like, a little frown, but he was still smiling, I don’t know!” Dylan sputters.  “I can’t describe it.”

“Then how do you know—”

“Because I know him, okay, Connor?”

“I know him, too.”

“Not the same,” Dylan says.  “I’m telling you, something’s bothering him.”

“Like what?  The Knights are doing fine—”

“Not everything’s about hockey—”

“And he’s not seeing any subs but us.”

“No, not that he’s told me about.”

Yeah, Mitch hasn’t told Dylan about any other subs because there aren’t any.  He’s an A for the Knights, he still has guys go down for him sometimes, when they need to, but his sessions with Dylan take care of his own needs.  He hasn’t needed to search someone out in London.

Even if he doesn’t really have Dylan, nevermind _Connor_ , and he’s just there for times like this, it’s fine, for now.  Maybe one day he’ll need something else, and then he’ll have to go looking.  But for right now, he likes being caught between them.

“I can tell you’re awake, fuckface,” Dylan says, dropping a wet cloth on Mitch’s face.

Mitch laughs and pulls it off his face, and starts to wipe himself off when he sees that one of them’s already done that for him.

“Thanks,” he says, tossing the cloth off the bed.

“You heard what we were talking about,” Connor says, not beating around the bush.

“Yeah,” Mitch admits.  He looks over at Dylan, and says, “If you thought there was something up you could’ve just asked.”

“I didn’t notice it until we were already with Connor,” Dylan mutters, which means he was too deep in subspace to do anything but file the information away to deal with later.

“So?  What’re you upset about?” Connor prompts.

“I’m not upset about anything,” Mitch says.

Dylan huffs.  “There’s _something_ bothering you.”

Well, if they aren’t going to let it go, he might as well just say it.

“I was thinking about… I don’t know,” Mitch starts.  “Like, I don’t any illusions of what this is, or whatever.  And I’m fine with it.  But, like, it’s obviously the two of you, and I’m…”

He doesn’t know how to phrase it.  An extra?  A hookup?  A switch they can call up any time they need a Dom?

“You’re a part of this, too,” Dylan says, frowning a little.  “You thought, what, you’re just a dick for us to use?”

“No,” Mitch protests, even though that comes pretty close, honestly.

“Yes, you did,” Connor argues.  “You really can’t see how much we care about you?”

“It’s the two of you guys,” Mitch says again.  “I’m not gonna fight against that.”

“You don’t have to fight anything!” Dylan tells him, pressing closer.  “C’mon, dude.  You know I… Y’know.  And Connor likes you, so like, c’mon!”

“If you don’t like us, that’s fine, too,” Connor says, but with a sour look on his face that definitely means it’s _not_ fine.

“I do like you both,” Mitch admits.  “A lot.”

“So be our boyfriend,” Dylan says, like it’s as simple as that.  Like he can skip the years of hell Dylan and Connor went through to get to that point with each other, and he can just slide in at the end and nab the both of them.

“You already kind of are,” Connor adds and well, Mitch guesses that’s true.

“Sure,” Mitch says.  “Yeah, if you’re serious.”

“Is Connor ever _not_ serious?” Dylan asks, a wide grin on his face.

Connor reaches across Mitch to smack Dylan, and Dylan tries to hit him back, and Mitch laughs as he tries to keep them apart.

Maybe they do need him after all.  Or, if they don’t, at least they want him.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLYYYYYYYY
> 
> thanks @ everyone that listened to me bitch and moan about writing a dom's perspective
> 
> join me in sin on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes


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